Aftershave
by Romantiq
Summary: Steve wants to know, at least once, that there is something observant beneath Tony's narcissistic exterior. He wants to know there are times when he notices. Slash. Steve/Tony. Copious fluff. Post-Avengers. One shot.


**Aftershave**

_You're a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle._

Steve's eyes are open in an instant. The sun is low in the sky before dawn, a refugee not yet out of hiding. He glances at the digital display beside the bed which reads in glaring blue light, 6:18 AM. His drowsy vision slowly begins to focus and he can make out the dim glow of downtown Manhattan encircling the tower.

He lifts his head over his shoulder to find Tony still in a deep sleep; his body twisted in the white sheets and sprawled carelessly over the bed. Steve finds this is one of those moments where he wants to be as far away from Stark as possible; the longer he looks at him the more anger he feels rising in his chest and into his arms, until his fists clamp the sheets tightly and he throws them off, reveling momentarily in the sensation of the cold polished floor beneath his feet as he stands up.

He makes his way quietly into the adjoining bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror; his hair impossibly disheveled and blue eyes squinting with exhaustion. Stark's words from weeks ago aboard the Helicarrier occasionally bleed into his dreams; his caustic voice is always so clear in his mind that Steve sometimes believes, in his first few moments of waking, that they had been arguing the same thing again only minutes ago.

He turns the water on and splashes it over his face, icy and unforgiving. They were at odds then, he reminds himself. And he had been no more merciful to Tony. But, something about the words makes his hands tremble when Tony isn't looking, makes his chest ache like it's under some invisible pressure. Even then, his incessant pride damns him into silence. He wants to know, at least once, that there is something observant beneath Tony's narcissistic exterior. He wants to know there are times when he notices.

Steve presses down on the nozzle of the can, working the shaving cream into a lather in his hands. He smooths it over his jaw and beneath his chin, and takes up the razor lying on the edge of the sink. He runs the blade slowly down and around and under until the left side of his face is nearly clean before he feels the lukewarm metal of the arc reactor at his bare back and teeth against his ear.

"Do you like being the only person in Stark Tower who's awake," Tony pauses to kiss the back of his neck, "before 6:30, on a Saturday morning?" He pauses again, his breath hot against Steve's skin, "does it make you feel special?"

And Steve wants to turn around, slam him against the far wall, and throttle him to death. Instead he dips the razor into the sink of hot water and lifts it carefully to his face.

"I know you're pissed," Tony has rested his head on Steve's shoulder; Steve sees his face reflected in the mirror. His dark eyes are unreadable.

"Do you?" Steve slides the razor over his skin, but Tony stops him, covering his hand with one of his own.

"You only get up at, what's the best word for this—" he pauses and furrows his eyebrows, "—_unacceptable_ hours of the morning, to shave no less, when you're pissed." He turns Steve's hand over. "That's my razor, by the way."

"Yeah, okay. What do you want, Stark?" He says it so quickly he's not immediately aware of how irritated he really is. But, he sees the flash in Tony's eyes, as if they are back on the Helicarrier as embittered rivals, no more than acquaintances.

"Nothing much." There's a short silence, but Tony doesn't move away. He drops his head and presses his lips against the crossroads of Steve's neck and shoulder. "Just you."

Still holding the razor, his free hand moves to ghost the contours of Steve's ribcage, trailing softly down to rest on the low curve of his hip. Steve impulsively lets out a quiet shaky sigh when Tony hooks his thumb inside the hem of his boxers.

Steve can feel him smiling against his skin, and suddenly the moment of undoing passes, and a spike of anger takes its place. "Do you know why?" His voice is cold, and he feels it echoing outside of him, as though it's someone else's.

"Why I want you?" He smiles wider. "Or why you're pissed?"

"Forget it." Steve yanks his hand out of Tony's grip, but this time he sets the razor down beside the sink, staring at the hot water below him so he won't have to look at Stark's reflection in the mirror.

"Because… you knew guys with none of _this_," Tony gestures to the enormous master bathroom they're standing in, "worth ten of me?"

Steve doesn't expect the response. And he wonders if his own words on the Helicarrier really had had some effect on Tony. "Did that really bother you?"

"It didn't then," Tony's looking straight at him in the mirror, one arm resting across Steve's chest and the other drawing circles in his hip. "It does now."

Steve can't resist the urge to smirk. "I didn't think that happened to genius billionaire playboy philanthropists."

"You'd be surprised." Tony leans over him and picks up the razor. "I know I was."

Steve moves his hand to take the razor, but Tony keeps it out of his reach. "Hold still."

"What? No. I can do it myself," he grabs at the razor again, but Tony pins his hand to the counter.

"I know," Tony says quickly. "But, I want to."

"_Tony_."

"Please," Tony looks at him teasingly. "Just this once."

"Fine."

Tony brings the razor down the line of his jaw and moves his other hand to touch the delicate skin beneath Steve's chin to hold him steady. He moves the blade gently in long languid strokes, left to right, up and over. Steve feels himself closing his eyes against the sensation, tilting his head back to just barely rest against Tony's forehead.

"Everything special about you did come out of a bottle," Tony stills the razor for a moment, kissing the newly shaven patch of Steve's cheek. "Like this shaving cream, for example."

"Technically, that's from a can."

"Well, it's not nearly as special then."

Steve laughs softly. "Would you just shutup?"

"No, I'm being serious," he resumes the slow strokes of the razor. "You let them do what they did to you because you wanted to feel important. You wanted to do something you couldn't do before. You didn't have to do it, but you did. Everyone has their thing. I got a Christmas light in the middle of my chest, and you got steroids from the 1940's. Point is, that made you _so_ special that you got to skip a few decades and end up here, as one of Earth's mightiest heroes."

Tony finishes the right side of his face and puts the razor down.

"Nice save," Steve murmurs, eyes still closed. "But, I don't buy it."

"Really?" Tony lets the hand on Steve's chin wander, trailing down over his bare flesh and below the belt he isn't wearing. Steve gasps and his body becomes an arch against Tony's, his hands reaching behind him to curl around Stark's neck.

"Well, I'm gonna stand on this round, seeing as I—" Tony breathes against Steve's back and presses his mouth into his shoulder blade,"—literally have you bending over backwards for me."

"Oh yeah?" Steve twists out of Tony's grasp and turns fully around to look at him.

Tony doesn't tease this time, and pulls Steve flush against him to kiss the foundation of his collarbone, to run his hands over his hips, and inhale the crisp after-scent of shaving cream. Steve's own hands catch around Tony's face, drawing him back, and he kisses him roughly, deeply, and without pretense.

And Steve's assured of everything he wanted to know. Because as he's kissing him, with Tony's hands warm on his skin and his breath against his mouth, he doesn't feel insulted or insecure anymore, and never wants to stop.

"I'm sorry," Tony says sincerely as they pull apart.

"And I don't know anyone worth one of you," Steve studies him softly. "Egotistical jerk."

"Okay, to be fair, I'm only a jerk when my bed is cold before 7AM on a Saturday morning," Tony purrs, leaning forward again to coyly kiss a trail from Steve's mouth to the base of his throat.

"Well, you know," Steve hums against his temple, "I had to shave."

He leads Tony back to the bedroom, drags him down upon the sheets, whispers his name in a deep quivering breath, and soon nothing is very cold at all.


End file.
